Flightless Crows
by Lolcano
Summary: Tashiro tries his best to live up to the Little Giant's legacy. But Karasuno two years ago was a very different team.
1. Chapter 1

In his first year, they went to Nationals, a glorious time in Karasuno's history. In his second, they did not even make the semi-finals. A new year began, and Tashiro Hidemi was chosen as the captain, and no one expected them to get much farther than the first round.

He was not the type to lament over circumstances, yet sometimes he could not help but resent the words emblazoned on the back of his jersey; "Karasuno Male Volleyball Team". If it could have been any other word but Karasuno!

Karasuno, who had gone to nationals. Karasuno, where the little giant had played. Karasuno, that strong, powerful school, soaring above the rest.

Karasuno was supposed to be a champion.

Although he wore the heavy weight of all these expectations gamely on his back, for all that, Tashiro Hidemi was no champion. He was not particularly tall, nor was he particularly skilled. This was a fact he was all too keenly aware of. On any other powerhouse team, he would not even make the reserves. It was not as if he was particularly bad, but he was not good either, rather, he was the kind of person who did not stand out one way or the other. In a word, mediocre. It was frustrating to him. No matter how hard he practised, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how much he improved as a player, it was as if he fundamentally lacked that essential spark needed to tip from the ordinary to extraordinary.

Yet when he closed his eyes, he could still recall those distant days, when they had really had been extraordinary. They gone to nationals, in his first year. There he had seen it with his own eyes, greatness, watching from the bleachers, far and distant, out of reach. It was something electrifying, extraordinary, wonderful to witness, in that instance, he was part of something bigger, something greater, something truly exceptional. The Little Giant, standing on the court. You could look at him and tell; he was a champion.

But he was gone now.

The third years, from that glorious era, also gone. Coach Ukai, retired.

And people whispered behind their backs, calling them "Flightless crows" and "Fallen champions".

But they were from Karasuno.

And he would show the world what they were made of.

They were champions, and they WOULD go to nationals!

At least that's what he said.

* * *

It was evening, after school.

The sound of volleyballs thudding, the squeak of rubber sneakers, against the wooden floor, echoed hollowly beneath the quiet drone of electric lights.

The volleyball curved upwards, hanging there, almost, for an instance, in the air, before tracing a leisurely path downwards. The student, next in line, in a flash of movement was in the air. The sound of contact, and the thud as it crashed into the opposing court. Again and again, a rhythmic beat, a symphony of effort.

"Good work everyone, keep it up!" said Tashiro as he watched, trying to encourage them as he watched them spike. He could tell they were tired. He was tired. He could tell by their side-long glances, the way they sighed before they ran up to spike the ball, their half-hearted hits, their anxious glances at the clock. Well, it was growing late.

And yet he found himself lingering.

Just one more.

If they practised long enough, if they practised hard enough, maybe somehow it would all click. It was coming now, any second, Tashiro was sure. The moment they would finally become good.

But it was too late now. They were tired. They were growing sloppy. It was better to let them go now, then keep them here against their will, to make them resent volleyball.

So after the next spiker had gone, Tashiro announced that practise was over, they were finished for the night. (You can't seriously expect them to play volleyball all day after all. There is still school work to done. But if you don't keep practising, how will you ever make it to nationals?)

A sense of relief washed over the crowd. It was as if a tightly wound string had at last become loose; they immediately became more relaxed, they laughed with each other and joked as they began to clean up.

Tashiro picked up a volleyball that was lying on the floor. Even with all this practise, he did not seem he were any better than before. His spikes were still weak, his serves and everything else as well. If he practised a little bit more, would he become better? Was there a magic amount of serves you had to do in order to master it? Imagine if that the number was 100, and going into the tournament, he had only done 99. Although would it really make a difference?

"Actually…," Tashiro announced, "I think I'll stay late tonight. Go home, I'll clean up."

And he added hopefully, "If anyone wants to join me…."

They hesitated, and Tashiro instantly regretted asking. Of course they didn't want to stay any longer, hadn't that already been established? Now they'd just feel guilty, leaving, inevitably, with a lingering feeling of shame. Mumbling an apology, one of the second years finally mustered his courage and left, unable to look Tashiro in the eye. And so, tactfully, he turned away from them, letting them leave without dishonouring themselves, as if what he could not see did not exist. Maybe this was something he had been doing for a long time. As if, by avoiding looking at them closely, they would become the same team which had gone to Nationals before, as if that team had not since long ago ceased to exist.

He sighed and stared looked at the empty court before him. The high nets which loomed over him like an insurmountable wall. The high pitched buzz of the electric lights droned in the background, echoing eerily in the vastness of the court, where he stood, all alone, and maybe he really was alone, maybe by now, they had all left. He found himself unable to look behind and check.

He wondered suddenly whether it was wrong of him to turn his back to his team. Shouldn't a captain stick by his teammates, no matter what? But to turn on them, to turn a blind eye to their own aspirations, wasn't that, on his end, to be considered a failure? But maybe it was sometimes necessary to turn your back on them, in order to lead them. Let's set our sights on Nationals! Point them in the right direction, inspire them. As if _he_ could inspire them. Why was he even here?

The wooden floor was glossy and reflected the shrill light. Row upon row of boards, now silent, unsqueaked by shoes. Outside, evening was just beginning to creep over the sky. School was long over; its halls empty and dark. The salarymen would now be working their way home on a weary commute; students were at home, studying, playing video games; soon it would be time for supper, and families would gather together around the table and eat beneath the golden evening light as the sun leaked its way into the horizon. And he was here, standing alone, in an empty volleyball court.

The same court that the Little Giant had stood. If it had been _him_ here, they would have stayed. That's the way he was; filled with a quiet intensity, so that when he played others couldn't help but watch, truly watch, and dream to be like him.

The sound of laughter.

"Asahi, wait for me!"

"Ah, sorry!"

He turned around, and the three first-years were there.

"You stayed!?" exclaimed Tashiro.

"You sound so surprised," said Kurokawa. Again, Tashiro turned. There was the tall third-year student, already with a volleyball in his hand, looking down at him with the usual unreadable expression on his face. So he had stayed too! He felt a rapid surge of gratitude swell up in him, and wondered why indeed, as Kurowaka rightly said, was he really so surprised. These first years, hadn't they already exceeded all expectations? And Kurokawa, he was their ace, it was to be expected. Maybe they really could make Nationals after all.

"Alright!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly, "Let's work hard!"

They practised long into the night.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really enjoyed Daichi's flashback in the manga and I wanted to write something about Tashiro for a long time. I was a little annoyed that they took that scene out of the anime, but at least we finally got to see it last week's episode! I'm so happy! I think Tashiro's a really interesting character, but you hardly ever see anything about him! So I did my best to express my feeling towards him in this fic. There will be two more chapters to come! Please enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the second set and they were losing, but Tashiro still believed that they could win.

The fact that they were going to lose, in fact, had already lost, that such a great gap in points and skill could not just simply be overcome, was something he refused to accept. Was it a matter of optimism? Was it a matter of stubborn obstinance? Just foolhardiness? Did he truly believe that they were the better team? He himself did not know.

But what he refused to accept was that it was over. Until the final whistle blows, the winner of a match is undecided. No matter how many points the other team scored, until the whistle blew, Karasuno could still score too. They could score, and they could win.

And until it was over, Tashiro would play, believing with all his heart and mind and soul that they could, and would, win.

Like a cannon whizzing through the air, the ball hit the ground, and Tashiro turned too late, wondering where it had come from. The spiker already gone; huddled in a circle on the other side, celebrating with his team.

"D-don't mind!" he called, "We'll take it back!"

They just smiled wearily at him, sweat pouring from their brows.

* * *

It was the same smile, a weary, indulgent smile, that they gave during practise, when he said they would go to nationals. The same bitter smile when he encouraged them to keep practising, if they just kept practising, then no one could tell what dizzying heights they could reach, what greatness they could achieve.

And yet they never said anything. Somehow that's what bothered him the most. They never said anything.

Only twice did they ever speak up.

Early in the year Tashiro had tried many different drills and techniques. He dredging his mind for half-forgotten drills learned in middle school, for vague memories of the various exercises he had done in the past. He searched for practices they could do online, of which numerous authorities swore would drastically improve their game, but whose efficacy in real life did not seem to produce any notable difference. He tried some drills which he had learned from books, but he was never quite sure if he was translating very accurately the words into actions. Some of it seemed to work, but some of it did not.

Was this how you are supposed to practise volleyball, he wondered? Which was the best drill, or the most effective? How did you best improve? Tashiro was never entirely sure. So he kept trying new things, desperately hoping something would work.

But eventually they got tired of it. As Tashiro did his best to explain a complicated new drill he had learnt online (apparently the Brazilian volleyball team did it all the time!), his teammates finally spoke up.

"Wouldn't it be better just to focus on the basics?"

"Hm?"

"You know, serving, receiving, that kind of thing."

"Yeah," another agreed, "I'd feel more comfortable trying new techniques if I was more confident I could hit the ball properly."

Tashiro figured that they were probably right. Fancy techniques were beyond him. they focused on basics. Solid receives. Solid serves. Basic three touch layups. That's what they practised from then on. The first years, however, began to practise on their own, long after the rest had left.

And so they practised, and they grew. To what purpose? Nationals!

And yet whenever he iterated this, whenever he spoke those words aloud, they ignored him with a bitter smile.

Until, at last, the day before the preliminaries for the Interhigh.

"I've thought this for a while now but… Shouldn't we have a goal that's more reasonable to achieve? They say it's not good to aim too high, since it can lead to a loss of self-confidence."

"That just applies when you'll have another chance, doesn't it?"

"So you seriously think we can make it all the way to the top?"

"It's not good to aim lower just because the likelihood is slim, though."

Tashiro watched with an odd expression on his face as they finally openly discussed their goals.

And that night they decided they would win.

* * *

They smiled at him wearily but as they took their positions, their jaws set, they stared fiercely at the other side of the court, and Tashiro could see that at the very least, they had not quite given up. Even if they had every right to. But they had not given up.

The ball was in the air. Here it comes. He glanced quickly at his teammates.

Their eyes, glittering, on the ball. Their bodies, tense and ready, focused, on edge.

They could still win.

The ball flew over, smooth elegantly, from the other side of the net.

A clean receive. It floated into the air like it had a million times in praise. They moved instinctively into position. A good toss. Basic skills. In an instance the ball was over the net, and slammed into the floor.

The whistle blew. Yes! His heart skipped a beat. He had barely registered it before his teammates were upon him; a convergence of bodies and joyful laughter.

The score: from 18-8, now 18-9.

A ball was put somehow into his hands and for a moment Tashiro did not comprehend.

"Your serve," said Kurokawa.

He walked to the back of the line.

* * *

"Kurokawa-san, how many serves did you have to do in order to become good at them?" Tashiro asked.

Kurokawa shrugged.

"There's no specific number," he said.

They were in the second gymnasium at Karasuno High.

Standing across the net from Kurokawa, he hefted the ball in his hand, breathed in deeply. Then threw it upwards. He swung his arm, and thank goodness it connected properly (sometimes it didn't) and flew over the net.

Kurokawa returned the ball back, and Tashiro was barely able to catch it, as it flew over with such force. How did he make it look so easy? Tashiro paid careful attention to the ace's motions, although it was perhaps better to say motion; his body moved all at once, fluid and strong; toss, leap all at once, and in an instant the ball was flying over the net. This strength and simplicity of movement which was something Tashiro could not seem to imitate, no matter how hard he tried, nor something that Kurokawa himself could properly explain.

Just then, a ball flew askew and hit him in the face.

"Sorry!" called out one of the third years, "I can't quite seem to hit it right today."

"Don't mind."

It was a feeling that Tashiro could relate to. Sometimes the longer he practised his serves, the worse, paradoxically, they got. They say that practise makes perfect, but someone had once told him that practise makes habit. What if he was doing it wrong, and the more he practised, the worse he became? Bad habits became engrained. Maybe he was doing it wrong, and just learning bad habits. Maybe that's all they were doing, during these long, unguided practises.

No, remember the steps. The arms, like a bow and arrow. Release, like whip. Step forward, twist the body. Something about torque. Half-faded memories, from coaches long ago. He hit the ball and it flew sideways, out of bounds. He held back a groan of frustration.

 _Focus_.

Kurokawa fetched the ball and sent it over once again.

Tashiro hefted the ball in his hand and breathed deeply.

Try again. Once more. Keep practising. He wouldn't give up.

And eventually it would pay off.

* * *

The ball flew cleanly through the air. _Yess!_ thought Tashiro and nearly forgot to move forward into his position. He rushed forward.

A good serve. A good team. Of course they could win. They had practised serves and serve receives a billion times, and now it had finally clicked, they were doing well. Now if only it wasn't too late. Now if only they could pull themselves back over the gap. Then they would win this round, and the next round, and the next. They would go to Nationals. _Focus, focus,_ he reminded himself, as the ball hurtled towards him. He received it a little too far forward and the ball ricocheted off his body. "Sorry," he called, as they scurried to return it. Two more touches, and the ball was over.

It hurtled towards the other team. The other team. Araigawa High.

They were not tall or particularly intimating, but they were strong. They did not yield, nor did they give up. Their coach watched the side, saying nothing, not needing to say anything. He simply watched as they followed what he had taught him, without a word. They knew what they had to do. The correct motions had been drilled into them; their movements were compact and efficient; their bodies moved without hesitation, they had practised so long they had become fluid. Karasuno struggled to get each point. But Araigawa moved as one.

How could they win?! When you compared the two teams it was obvious who was better. Karasuno, who moved about helter-skelter in barely controlled panic, versus the unexceptional, but steadfast Araigawa.

 _But,_ thought Tashiro, _we can still win! They may be organized, but we have SPIRIT!_

In the end, however, they still lost.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for reading! One more chapter to go!**


	3. Chapter 3

Tashiro stood alone in the empty court. The lights buzzed quietly, echoing hollowly in the vast hollowness of the gym. He walked forward and all he could hear was the ringing of his footsteps, echoing, echoing, into the silence.

After the match, he had told his teammates that at least they had done their best, as if that made things better. Trying to remain upbeat, he smiled, trying to remain cheerful even they cried.

"We didn't even win a set," they said.

"We played well…"

Fake words. Hollow words. Hollow like his purpose, like this empty gym. Like his supercilious claim that they could go to Nationals, that they could win. Why had he believed in it, when he had known, of course, in his heart of hearts, that this could be the only outcome? Why why why?

They must really think he's an idiot.

He stood in the court, his shoulders slouched. He couldn't carry it, this heavy weight. In the end, he couldn't do it, couldn't live up to Karasuno's name. The shadow of the Little Giant. The Little Giant, who leaping up into the air as if gravity was only a matter of the mind, so high that it was as if he could fly, who cast so great a shadow.

It was a burden that Tashiro had not been strong enough to bear. And now… It was over. And what was his legacy, he wondered. He too left behind a shadow.

A dark shadow. The title of "Flightless Crows" and "Fallen Champions". The knowledge that Karasuno wasn't what it used to be.

This, he thought to himself, was his legacy.

And he felt small and hopeless, standing alone in the gym.

* * *

It was a sight that Daichi never forgot.

His back was to them, drenched in shadows, the back of his captain, standing alone in the gym. It was not a strong or broad back, but there was something noble about it all the same. He stood, a thin small form, firmly planted; like a man facing something great and hopeless, like a man standing over the ocean as the tide crashes against the rocks, powerless against the mighty forces of nature. But he faced it nonetheless. He turned his back, defiant, to the world, turning towards where others had not dared to reach, reaching always upwards for that unreachable star.

"Let's set our sights on Nationals!" he had said that very first day, and Daichi had believed him. He had not realized that it had been an impossible dream. Instead, he had placed his gaze towards this horizon and strived towards it, strived then and still strived, to make this impossible dream a reality. And tomorrow, they would play Shiratorizawa.

"If a chance comes along… grab onto it!"

Daichi stood in front of the gym, where three years ago he had stood, introducing himself, young and uncertain, with Suga and Asahi. Back then he did not know where they were going, or what would happen in three years. And there had been moments where nationals had indeed felt like a distant impossible dream. Last year, the year before… Could he have ever imagined that they would make it this far? At times he had felt like giving up.

But then the words would ring through his head: "Our goal is Nationals!"

Our goal is nationals. This had always been the goal. Tashiro-san's goal. Their captain, who had not satisfied with what they were, and instead he looked forwards and upwards, always upwards, to the best that they could be, dreaming for a time when they could fly once again. He had struggled against the impossible, and though he had not succeeded, Daichi did not forget his struggle or his words. This goal they had not back then been able to reach. And now the burden fell to him.

But this year the stars were aligning in their favour. They had a coach, talented players, connections to other teams, the will to win. With an unshakable fervour, they had all strived for that same goal; the national competition. But, he realized, had he ever said it?

His teammates had already capered into the gym and were fooling off already, the excitement from their victory over Seijoh still flowing through their veins.

"Could I have a minute?" said Daichi, and they quieted and turned. He breathed in deeply, standing in the door.

"Our goal…" he announced into the silence, "Is to win the national competition!"

There was a pause, his words reverberating through the gym.

"Huh?" said Kageyama. "What else is there?"

Daichi smiled.

This was their chance!

* * *

Tashiro suddenly became aware that there was someone else in the gym. And without turning to look he knew that it was the three first-years who had come back even though he had sent everyone home; they had come back in order to practice. They did not speak; their footsteps had halted and they stood, in the echoing echoing silence. These first years. They were so strong, so much stronger than him.

When Tashiro spoke, his voice was quiet, raw and broken.

"We….," he said, "took too long to get together."

If they had started earlier…! If somehow, they had clicked just a little sooner. But that chance was now gone forever. It was over. However….

The shadow of the Little Giant. This empty court. Not empty. The first-years, standing there now. Himself and his teammates, running their familiar drills. Motions he had practised so often he could still see them, like a ghostly aftershadow. Ghosts of the past. His senpais from last year, running the same drills in the same court. The Little Giant, so small and yet casting such great a shadow, but even then, just one of many shadows of the past. So many who had gone to Karasuno, who had cast their hopes and dreams out on this court, so many who had strived, who were striving, and who would continue to strive even in the future.

It wasn't over.

"It's said that 'Chance favours the prepared mind'," said Tashiro, "Maybe Karasuno won't be all that strong from here on out. Maybe it'll even be like that for years into the future. But even so…"

Tears were streaming down his face.

"If a chance comes along… Grab onto it!

This was not the end.


End file.
